


Götzenbrecher Vignettes

by hoffnung_ipi



Category: Midsommar (2019)
Genre: Christianity, Fix-It, Monotheism, Paladins, Religion, Roman Catholicism, idolatry is bad, no watching the source material we write fic like men, seriously idolatry is really bad, we have been warning you about this for over five thousand years
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-08-20 11:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20227270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoffnung_ipi/pseuds/hoffnung_ipi
Summary: At the critical moment, Dani finds that with the right attitude, she does have a trustworthy friend after all -- the true "elder god".





	1. Aftermath: The Heroine At College

“What _happened_ to Dani? Did she find Goth Jesus or something?” asked David, not aware that he was saying anything other than a joke. 

“Hell if I know”, replied Reese. “It’s like she’s a completely different person. Like, she’s mourning because her mom and sister are dead, she goes on a short vacation to Sweden, because _sure, yeah, whatever_, and she breaks up with that loser anthropologist boyfriend, he’s moping around now, and then she comes home and she acts like she’s kinda crazy and _super weird_.”

“Yeah, and she hasn’t said anything about what she did in Sweden. It’s like she joined a cult or something. She just says she doesn’t want to talk about it”. replied David. 

“Have you noticed that she’s _hot _now?!”, asked Nancy in her typically loud and uncouth voice, at the same time as David continued, “I really worry about her, especially now.”

The truth was that Daniella (for this was the form of her name that she now preferred) _did_ look different. In only a week and a half the chubbiness of city life had hardened into the strength of martial virtue. She had forsaken sandals or heels for short leather boots with sturdy soles and shorts for a flaring skirt just below her knee. A leather belt – almost a harness – encircled her waist in a figure-eight, unattached buckles dangling at the left. Her hair was drawn out in a single waist-length braid, bound and woven with a dark blue ribbon. Most strikingly, her left cheek, just below her eye, was marked by a small tattoo, no larger than a quarter, of the Cross of Christ. Her eyes, which were not indeed in any way _different, _seemed to have acquired an intense, piercing aspect. 

She was subtly avoiding ever sitting with her back to a door. Moving forcefully and deliberately, like a soldier – yet gracefully as a dancer. A new and steely confidence gripped her; she apologized for the slightest wrong instantly and politely, and never for anything not actually her fault. She had a large, long, heavy, _suspicious_ padlocked plastic box in her dorm room. 

And she was back at university. Studying history like just two weeks ago. Her three classmates agreed she seemed out of place. Once class started, Nancy noticed with alarm that she was only _pretending _to take notes on the lecture. She was constantly alt-tabbing on her laptop to what looked like scans of a positively medieval book – the only word Nancy could make out (of that unreadable Gothic font) was “Maleficarum”. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it truly a good idea to leave the terror unchallenged? 
> 
> The urge which God has given me is always to try to find a way to repair, to avenge the corruption and the failure by fixing it and making it right. 
> 
> J. R. R. Tolkein taught that fairy stories teach that the terror can be broken.


	2. The Lay of Daniela, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh blessed hero, maiden restored  
Who against black terror implored  
The gifts of Saints, the help of the Lord  
And in rising grace has ethics restored!

Her wicked aim of vengeance fell

In sorrow for her faithless man

And grace showed her the gates of Hell

Which yawned for souls and pagan blood

From better days, of mother’s love

From stones of pennance harsh and hot

A whispered prayer of warning rove

The terror and the tempted thought.

She fell in madness forth and hard

Prostrate on the blessed earth

By True God made, ere sin it marred

And the Name she vainly called at last

As Hope’s fair tale of cherished days

a silent thought her call replied

And horrified her prayer then raised

To lonely light that endless lasts

Then timeless halls did open wide

Where endless fall the blessed years

Of Holy Christ and Church His Bride

And Powers which about them stand

In sorrow then for selfish thoughts

To Father of all things of old

And Son whose blood sin unknots

With shimmering ghost the comforter.

Beyond the time of mortal years

She healed and learned of elder ken

Psalms from kings yet soaked with tears

And Name of God the three in one

In pouring rain from cloudless sky

He baptized her in desperate time

And let the binding madness die

She rose with flaming sword in hand.

With flashing wrath she called the Name

From panoply of saints of old

There breaking bonds and quenching flame

And sinking claws in terror-myth

The gifts of War came flying free

As words from far-off spoken loud

And prayer to doom idolatry

As black gifts burned and fell to ash

Her sword was keen, her gun shot true

The gifts of ancient shriven souls

Her cloak was armor, shimm’ring blue

An iron rose her brow did hold

From terrors of the raging wars

in chemists’ silk they armored her

Her vest in blue-gray runes implored

To ward all wounds and harm from her

Her harness sewn of leather fair

A host-lot of grim shells did hold

And bottled fire in glass so clear

The darkness of the night to cut

The wire from her throat demure

drew aether to outshine the Sun

And speak the Truth cross empty moor

Or hear the calls of desperate men

Through sunlit fields of bloody deeds

And idol-halls too close to home

Where hatred plants its sinful seeds

And where the black prince grows his own

The manor-house of princely steward

She entered then, despising guards

And left words to urge them toward

the narrow path of hope and law.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's no secret that this is heavily inspired by Tolkein's "Song of Earendil". 
> 
> The manner of Dani's conversion is in some way reflective of my own. Though of course quite dramaticized and heroic in a way mine was not -- the Lord has not sent St. Joan of Arc to armor me in a blessed crusader's armor or given me an unjammable radio. But the essentials -- the calling upon the mercy of God by someone who nominally does not believe in God -- the acceptance of the potential for human failure and the cost of moral behavior -- the rescue by divine grace at the the final critical moment -- the plaintive call for God at the time of *moral* desperation -- the repentance -- are all things I have lived through.


	3. The Idol-Breaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Daniella Discovered The Light Of God, And How She Challenged the Offerers of Blood

Nearing a total nervous breakdown, Dani started to look towards her faithless lover Christian, to condemn him to human sacrifice. But something within her stayed her eyes. From out of the timeless halls, from stones of pennance harsh and hot, came the voice of a mother's love from beyond the grave. 

"NO. BAD IDEA. DO NOT."

Dani's glassy eyes stirred. From a thousand miles away, the elder was saying that he awaited her verdict as queen of May. 

A thin tendril of memory called to her. There was not merely horror, but the sense that things should not be this way... 

"Oh god." she mumbled under her breath, and struggled to stand out of the throne. She seemed so weak, and her head swam. Instead, she face-planted forward and crumpled face-forward, prostrate on the ground. The nightmare of the drugs she had taken days before seemed very, very far away, and the choked, slurred moaning that Christian was making seemed very desperate and very close. 

"Oh, Jesus", she whispered, this time in an altogether different tone and with an altogether different thought. Dani, who had not entered a church since the age of five, wondered against hope if that name held any power. 

The response was shocking. All the terror of the last days melted away like a bad dream; there were only kind acts to do, love to give, and obstacles to be overcome or suffered graciously. The timeless halls of Heaven opened to her, and the Saints of God came forth. For days untold and untellable did Dani sit beneath the instruction of the Lord and the holy ones, and learned the ways of God from the one source from which the bishops of the Lord have learned it -- and beyond this, she learned of elder knowledge and future times which is not told here. 

Then the blessed light receded, and the saints receded, and the face of God receded. Dani was lying on her back now, and two young Hargans were holding her, lifting her back onto the throne of the May Queen. 

> Origin of the Name "Dani": Contraction of "Daniella", feminine form of Hebrew "Daniel". Meaning, "God is my judge"

From this position, Daniella watched the miracle of the cloudless blue sky. In a matter of seconds it darkened and formed into clouds that hid the sun and sprinkled a gentle rain onto everyone and everything present. From out of the Gothic darkness of the heavens came three great squalls of wind that sent pouring, gushing rain like three successive sheets of water drenching Dani to the bone. 

The water ran down her hair and down her forehead, and she heard the voice of an ancient man crying in the wilderness, and she felt that holy secret fire, which she had long thought little of and only recently perceived, marking her hand and forehead and taking up its residence about her soul.

The dress of the Queen of the May clung in slimy, clutching, translucent ripples and tendrils across her back, shoulders, and hips, and she struggled as the elders "helpfully" lifted her back onto the throne of flowers and twigs. The eyes of every Hargan were riveted on her in awe, confusion, and wonder -- and the elder repeated, "Who do you chose to be our most holy sacrifice?"

Daniella's voice was very soft and very clear and forceful: "This is my family. This is my home and my inheritance. This is where I belong". The elder eyed her uneasily, a slight unrest spreading through the assembled Hargans. Even though it cost her her life, she _had_ to do something. 

She stood up straight, and cried aloud, "Whoso worships other gods brings themselves sorrow." then, as a booming call, "Never will I offer their offerings of blood! Never will I speak their names!". 

The Hargans were reacting, gradually and far away. A woman with hope but without fear was to be an incorruptible challenge. She anticipated death, but did not fear it now. Before anyone could surge toward her. The next word was said in a shout joined by a choir of angels; it passed through the air and through the ears and souls of all who heard it, and out of thought and memory back to the Lord -- and the preternatural answer reflected back to her. 


End file.
